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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055048">Demon of Death</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcaneMadman/pseuds/ArcaneMadman'>ArcaneMadman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Devil May Cry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Before Sparda turned on Mundus, Blood, Bury the Light, Canon-Typical Violence, Chill Present, Eva is cool, Flashback, Gen, Party, Past Present Contrast, Redgrave, Sparda being a badass, Violent past, before the disaster twins were born</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:34:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055048</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcaneMadman/pseuds/ArcaneMadman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Throughout the millennia, there have been many names for the legendary Sparda. The Demon Swordsman, the Saviour, and of course the Legendary Dark Knight. But there is one title that he keeps close to himself.<br/>"My family crest is a Demon of Death."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>But not a major part of the story, Eva/Sparda (Devil May Cry)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Demon of Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The battlefield had, finally, gone quiet, the only sound he could hear was his own breath. He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell acrid of death. The fires, the blood, he could sense all of it. He straightened himself and furled up his wings, letting the droplets of blood fall off to join the pools at his feet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The battle was won, not for the enemies weakness, but for his strength, and that of his army. An army that was now cannibalising the fallen, enemy and ally alike. He thought nothing of it, not really. It was simply the way of things. The weak fall, the strong must survive, and if the weak feed the strong, so be it. Besides, their victory had been well earned. He allowed his soldiers to indulge in this feast with gluttonous abandon, even if he did not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watched as a Blade picked up the severed arm of a human, tearing it up to let the blood flow before eating it whole. At that, his crimson eyes thinned. Survival was one thing, but such desecration of the fallen who had fought as if devils themselves did draw his ire. But he still said nothing. His sense of honour had defined him, and his loyalties, but he could not expect the same of lowly spawn such as them. Besides, that honour had itself earned him some ire from the likes of his own Emperor. He sometimes questioned if his master was right in such an assumption, but merely brushed it off. If not for his honour, he reasoned, he would have no loyalties, and as he could not imagine betraying his Emperor, he could not imagine who he would be without it. It was as much a part of who he was as the sword in his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked down at the sword, which was still steaming. It was not a grand weapon, but it was forged by his own hand and served him well. The guard resembled his head and horns, with ornate marking to complete the resemblance. Some may call it vanity. He disagreed. The sword was a part of him, and the guard was symbolic of that. He gazed at it for a moment before placing the weapon on his back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Looking down the bodies around him, he noticed the blood was beginning to soak into the ground. Demonic roots would sprout here, that was without question. However it would be a waste to let all the blood of the dead simply act as fertiliser. He crouched down and, with both hands, brought the scarlet liquid to his mouth and drank.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was like electricity. Human blood was useless in human flesh, but for his kind it was <em>power</em>. He couldn’t help but growl as his senses brightened and cleared from the dulling the battle had caused. He felt fire at his fingertips, and after a few more drinks he stood, wiping his blood soaked chin with a blood soaked hand, aback at full strength.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Perhaps, if he indulged as the others did, he wouldn’t merely return to full strength, but surpass it. The power he already had, though, he was satisfied with. He served his Emperor well, and who knew how many lives he would have to consume to truly grow, and conquering the humans would not require such power.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Without warning, the demons around his bristled, Blades and Frosts brandishing their claws while Shadows shuddered and shifted their fur into razors. With a quizzical tilt of his head, he turned towards the focus of attention.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Walking towards them was a human. Just one, and they were badly injured, barely able to grip their gladius. The soldiers around him began to inch toward the human, but he stopped them with a gesture. He was curious.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you come to surrender, human?” His voice rumbled. The human didn’t reply. “You must realise that you will not achieve anything. So, do you wish for death?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Again, the human said nothing, just continuing forward. He frowned. This was not normal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The human drew their weapon, eyes locked with him, and they attacked. Even if they weren’t injured, there were a thousand ways he could have destroyed them. And 941 of them hurt. But in the end, a sword in the chest was enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Slowly, the human dropped their sword, weakly locking eyes with demon that killed them. “We shall never surrender.” They hissed as the life drained from their eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He said nothing as he removed his weapon from their dead body, watching it fall to the ground, their blood lost among the rest of the slaughtered humans. He looked at it as it went pale, his eyes narrowing. Why would they stay, if not to try and surrender? They were weak, and the weak exist to serve the strong. That was simply the way the world worked. And humans were weak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Were they though?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He blinked. Of course they were. The was no questioning it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then why did they refuse to give up?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That did give him pause. For demons, serving the strong once proven weak was simply natural. No demon he knew of would willingly serve if they weren’t equal in power to their supposed master, the only exceptions he knew of being created by their masters to serve. Was strength not enough of a reason for the humans? He turned to gaze on the battlefield. There was something about this all that felt off to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scowled. He shouldn’t be giving one weak human so much attention. They didn’t matter. All that mattered was Mundus. Mighty is the power of Mundus. He unfurled his wings and took to the skies. There was much to report.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As much as he loathed it, however, that human was still like a parasite in him mind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>We shall never surrender.</em> </span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sir?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sparda blinked, pulling himself out of his own head and turning to face his guest. “Apologies. I was lost in thought.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The guest, a minor aristocrat from a neighbouring city, gave a small smile. “No need to apologies sir.” The man nodded at the wall. “It’s quite the collection, if I do say so myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sparda felt his features crinkle in pride. “Thank you. It has taken me many years to accumulate it.” He gestured to the far wall. “That painting in the centre? A rare piece by Albrecht Dürer, created merely years before the turn of the fifteenth century. It was rather difficult to claim, but I believe it was worth the price.” He walked over to a nearby glass case. “These, however, are very interesting.” He pointed to a spear that seemed to be wrapped in snake skin. “They call this one Balam. They say the spear can can give you visions of your opponents actions before even they know what they shall do. And this…” He points slightly lower to a pair of gauntlets with glass wings at the wrist. “Is Tityos, after the greek Titan. They can shred even the hardest of armours.” Sparda chuckled. “Well, so says the legend.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fascinating.” The man stroked his beard. “You’ve kept them in pristine condition. I don’t suppose you’d let me get a closer look?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once more, Sparda chuckled, though there was something much darker. “I’m afraid not. I’ve taken great lengths to prevent these items from finding their way into stray hands, and I am afraid that I cannot shift from this stance.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A shame.” He muttered. “However, there is one item that has caught my interest, if I may ask.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will not be a poor host. Ask away.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The aristocrat turned to a lone portrait of the host on the wall facing the entrance, its position immediately drawing the attention of whoever entered the room. It was a fairly modest painting, with Sparda wearing similar attire in both life and image, purple clothes, golden monocle, and hands resting on a macabre looking claymore with a skeletal guard. and, the way the shadows were painted, it appeared he had wings.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, yes.” Sparda laughed meekly. “Well, it is somewhat grandiose for my tastes. I had that commissioned some years ago.” He looked down. “Though I suppose my tastes in how I dress has changed little. Regardless,” He said, clearing his thought. “I have been meaning to commission a new piece to replace it, as it is outdated.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t appear to have aged since.” The man said, raising an eyebrow. Before Sparda could correct him, he continued. “However, the item that drew my interest was <em>that</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Raising an eyebrow, Sparda’s gaze followed his guests pointing finger, settling on a small engraving at the bottom of the picture frame. It was a simple carving, an M shaped marking, with the outer points curving like horns, the interior point was sharp, and inside of the engraving had intricate golden markings. As a complete image, it was a rather grim thing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah.” He rumbled. “That is my crest. The crest of my house.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see. I had seen it around, so that makes sense. May I ask if it has a name?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It does. It is called the ‘<em>Demon of Death</em>.’”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pair became silent. Slowly, the man turned to look at his host, whose eyes remained fixed on the crest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Has your family always had such an… occult figure?” He said eventually.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s a bleak symbol, if you ask me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I disagree.” Sparda straightened and smiled. “Death is not something to be feared. It is the most natural part of life. And, regardless, there is the history of such a title, and its connection to the Dark Knight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man frowned. “The legend of Sparda?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh yes. Many seem to only know Sparda as the Legendary Dark Knight, protector of humanity. They forget that he <em>turned</em> to the side of humanity. There was a time before he was the Dark Knight of legend. What’s more, he was the right hand of the Emperor he eventually turned on and defeated. However, before he succeeded in such a feat, he was merely a soldier, not a legend, with only the title of ‘<em>Demon of Death</em>.’”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was not aware of this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Few are. It is a tale older than most of the Dark Knight’s myths. But that is why I take pride in this crest, and its title.” He turned on his heel. “Now, I apologise, but I have neglected my other guests for too long.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The guest waves his hand in dismissal. “No need, sir. I should rejoin the party as well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They together walked in silence until they reached the main room, filled with men and women in their finest attire. The man gave his host a curt bow. “I thank you for indulging my curiosity, though I admit it is now piqued.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And why is that, my friend?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, nothing.” He chuckled. “Just the thought of what could have changed the mind of Sparda, if he existed, to act for humans rather than against them.” He began to walk away, shrugging. “I suppose I will never know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, the host stood alone, smiling contently.<em> What indeed, </em>he thought to himself, walking to a certain blond haired woman in a black red and scarlet shawl in the crowd. She saw him approaching, and he couldn’t help but grin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There you are!” Eva laughed hooking her arm through his. “I was wondering where you could have disappear off to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Forgive me, dear. I needed some time to myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t reading the Inferno again, were you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eva, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You better not have left me to <em>mingle</em> while you sat around and read. I barely know anyone here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eva, dear, I was not reading.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, what were you doing then?” She needled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was merely reminiscing, looking through my collection.” He winced. “<em>Our</em> collection.” He quickly corrected as she raised an eyebrow. “That reminds me,” He continued, quick to change the subject. “We must commission a portrait of us together.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I simply believe we should have something of us, rather than just myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Eva gave him a sly smile. “Really? Not a fan of the attention.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Something like that.” He said as he carefully swiped a pair of champaign glasses from a passing waiter, handing one to Eva. “The centre stage is not for me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm.” Eva smiled as she took a sip. “Well, perhaps you should stop with the theatrics.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Theatrics?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Darling, we both know you love to… how should I put this?” She placed a finger on her chin. “Flaunt. That’s it. You love to flaunt.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t think that’s fair Eva.” His wife laughed, poking his arm. It was at this moment that he realised she had led him into the centre of the room, and almost every guest was now at least glancing at them, not helped by Eva’s complete apathy towards any attention or judgement. Sparda found himself sheepishly hiding behind his glass of bubbles. Regardless of how human he may become, a predator never liked being surrounded, though the fears of a predator were very different from the fears of a party host. At least when he was surrounded by enemies he could shoot or stab them. He preferred those kinds of enemies.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile, many guests were pleasantly surprised to find that the enigmatic and intimidating count from Redgrave was easily reduced to a man with an embarrassed smile by his wife. It was good to see that, for all his mystery, he was still human.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist, he steered them away from the crowd. “You are a cruel woman.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now why would you say that, darling?” She smirked, finishing her drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know precisely why, <em>dear</em>.” He said, pulling his beverage away before she could steal it from him. “Not only placing me in the middle of the room, but also directly under the light. Pray tell, what would we have said if anyone decided to look down?” He tapped his foot on his shadow. “And you claim that <em>I</em> like to flaunt?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A moment passed between them before they finally both cracked a smile, followed by laughter. He cherished her, more than he could ever express to her. Eva was everything he loved in humanity, and she didn’t care about the power or bloodshed of his past. It wasn’t a matter of who is, or who he was, but both. The Dark Knight, and the Demon of Death. She had made it abundantly clear that, whatever burdens they may have, they faced them together. As for their pasts and legacies? Well, why should they be any different? They were family.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wrapped an arm around her, feeling energy surge through in his body. She was like electricity.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heyo.</p><p>So ever since Vergil was announced as playable for DMC5SE, I have been absolutely hyped up. One thing that really got my blood pumping was Bury the Light, which is by far the best theme out of all the character themes, and makes me really mad that Dante got the only theme that isn't good.</p><p>Anyone, one line in particular really stuck out to me, that being "My family crest is a demon of death." Which set my mind into overdrive on what that could mean, and in the end I had to write something down. Ultimately, this is the final result.</p><p>I'm not entirely sure if this is that great, it was really hard to write, but considering I've had some serious writers block for my other projects it was good to actually make something. I'm not sure how the Sparda and Eva thing came out, I've never written relationships before and I didn't really want to make it romantically focused because I probably can't write that very well, but in the end I'm happy.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy, and stay safe.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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